Anxiety is painful. There’s nothing quite like it. It’s extremely private and lonely and it comes with the overwhelming sense that no one on the planet could possibly relate to the intensity and the sharpness. The whirling thoughts are so uniquely you, in a “stale bedsheets smell after a bout of the flu” kind of way. It’s every thought you ever had, all at once. No one could ever understand so many thoughts. Which is why when someone asks me, “What’s going on? What are you anxious about?” there is no way to explain.
